Valhalla
by justplainrii
Summary: An old man finally says his goodbyes. Oneshot, 1000 words.


Valhalla

---

It is night. The air is cold, and the moonless sky is dark, covered with clouds. The old digger man finds himself a patch of earth on the outskirts of town, and begins to dig himself a hole.

He is tired, these days, and his arms cannot turn his drill as well as they used to. It is harder to see, even in the daytime, and the cold seems to blow through his bones as if he weren't there.

But the hole in the earth is warm and almost comforting, a familiar space. It is here that he settles down to sleep, his sole companion, an old pig-mole, pressed up against his cheek.

Even in his dreams, he is digging. He does not know why he is digging, knowing only that he must.

The old man digs with purpose in his weak arms, and soon his humble hole has become a respectable tunnel. He continues on his knees, digging onward towards his unknown goal.

He hears voices. They are faint, echoing slightly from further up the tunnel. They call his name.

And suddenly, he breaks into a cave, and sees two people kneeling before him, though he cannot make out their faces. Their outlines are soft and worn with memory, but familiar and comforting, like an old blanket.

"We are sorry for leaving you so soon," one says.

"That we couldn't be there for you, to watch you grow up," says the other, utter regret in her voice.

"But we are so proud of you."

"You've done a good job, son."

"Thank you," says the old man, and he bows to them.

They part to either side, and he continues to dig. The hole is wider now, but his arms are growing tired.

Now there are four. They stand before him imposingly, and he stops to face them.

One of them laughs a rough and untamed laugh. "Well, if it isn't the little human ape! You've grown into quite a man."

"Quite a man indeed." The voice is female and sharp and spiked with a laugh like a whip. "I am honored to have battled you."

"I am honored." A voice like feathers.

"I am honored as well." A voice like the very rumbles of the earth.

The old man bows to the four silhouettes on either side of him, human in shape, but only barely.

And he keeps digging.

The pig-mole presses against his cheek worriedly, but the old man reassures it as he moves ever onward.

The tunnel is getting bigger. There are lights ahead, the glow of lanterns.

A motley crew stands before him, proud and cheering when he comes in sight.

"Woah, hey! You're here! Man, we've been waiting for ya!"

"Waiting for ya, for ya!"

"Yeah, for ya!"

"Man, the things you've done! Way to go, man!"

"Way to go!"

"You're the best!"

"Yeah, captain!"

The old man laughs and smiles in spite of himself. "You guys are something else," he says.

He bows to them as well. But he doesn't stall, digging onward as they part, respectfully silent.

The tunnel is enormous, and there is now a glow before him, a strange green. And suddenly, there is a mountain of a man before him.

"You remind me of myself, boy," the man says. "Always going forward. But you didn't make my mistakes."

"You made no mistakes," the old man replies, and bows to him.

The mountain shifts to the side, and the old man resumes his digging.

But as he is leaving, he hears the voice calling behind him.

"But you treated my daughter well."

The old man continues to dig.

The light before him becomes yellow, brighter, and warmer, the tunnel enormous. He wonders, for a moment, why he is digging, when the tunnel has gotten so big already, and at no effort on his part. But his arms are so tired.

A man stands alone before him, and he laughs like a crack of thunder.

"Look at you!" he says. "It's about time, you rascal! Going off and stealing all the glory. But man did you do good." His smile is bright, and the old man can see it in the half-light of the tunnel. "You're a good kid. Never would have thought."

The old man smiles and laughs slightly, and waves his hand dismissively, going at the tunnel again.

The light ahead of him is pale and comforting now, the tunnel so large that he cannot even see its top. He is exhausted, but he knows he must continue digging.

He hears a voice at his back. "I've been waiting for you."

The old man stops, but he does not look behind him. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"It has. And you just keep on digging, don't you?"

"That's what I do. I'm just a simple digger."

"Ah, but look back at what you've made. What you've left behind you."

And the old man looks back, and he sees them all.

His mother and father. The Four Generals. His fallen, beloved brothers in arms. Lordgenome. Kittan. All smiling at him, cheering him, already having said their praise.

And standing beside him is Kamina, as tall and glorious as he will always be in his memories.

Simon cannot help but smile, though it is a sad smile, one of farewells.

"You did a good job, Simon," Kamina says.

"...yeah. I think I did," Simon replies.

"There is just a little bit more to go. She's waiting for you, you know."

At the end of the tunnel, he sees the living, glimmering with memory and potential and hope.

And with his drill, with Boota at his side, he breaks through the wall of the tunnel to where the light is.

And there she stands, with her shining eyes full of love, as beautiful and perfect as she was on the day they were married.

He smiles, and steps into her waiting arms.

Thus ends the story of Simon the Digger.


End file.
